


If You're Going to Break My Heart, Lie Instead

by CreativWit



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Cheating, Damian Wayne is a good brother, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Failed Relationships, Gen, Hurt Tim Drake, Jason Todd is a good brother, References to Depression, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Strong Language, Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric, Tim just has a really bad time in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24467773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativWit/pseuds/CreativWit
Summary: "Throughout the whole performance - if Tim could even call it that, considering how often Henry blatantly missed notes – Claire never took her eyes off the damn guitarist.And Tim was starting to wonder if he was losing a competition he hadn’t known he was competing in."~~~~~~~Or, alternatively, Tim is in a happy relationship with a girl he loves, until he finds out that maybe this relationship isn't as two-sided as it may seem.
Relationships: Past Tim Drake/Original Female Character, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 182





	If You're Going to Break My Heart, Lie Instead

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is heavily inspired by the song "Lie to Me" by 5 Seconds of Summer. I recommend listening to that song as you read this so you can get the full effect of what I was trying to convey here. In fact, each section of this fic corresponds with each section of that song, so each part of the story has its own verse/chorus to go alongside it. Just a fact, in case you wanted to try it.
> 
> I would like to note that I have nothing against heavy metal - I am a metal-head myself - and you'll understand why later.
> 
> Just to reiterate, there are references to depression and self-worth issues. It's not a lot, but I'm not chancing it. Also, there is cheating and failed relationships here, as well as drinking to cope, so if any of this triggers you, please reconsider reading those. Your mental health is worth more than a story. 
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy!

When Tim first met Claire, he didn’t know what to do. She was everything Tim hoped for: funny, kind, independent, self-made, brilliant. She had a megawatt smile that lit up his day, and she had loving arms that held him at night. Their first meeting had been pretty standard. Apparently, standing in a long Starbucks line was a great way to get a conversation going. One thing led to another, and now here they were, nine months into dating and going strong.

At this point, Claire and Tim had seen enough of each other that physical appearances didn’t matter. The first time Claire came to him without makeup was when she was staying over for the night. Tim laid in bed, dressed in his pajamas and absentmindedly answering emails from work on his phone, when she slowly crept in. Lifting his eyes but barely moving his head, Tim locked eyes with her. Of course, he noticed she didn’t have her foundation and eyeliner and whatever else on, but what did he care? As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t dating this amazing girl for her face. So when she stood in the doorway, looking as unsure as he’d felt on their first date, Tim told her as such. The bright smile she gave him made his heart flutter, and he knew that he loved her, makeup or not.

Nine months of strong love between them. Tim became so used to seeing his girlfriend at her “worst.” She would stumble into the kitchen early in the morning, hair a bird’s nest and dressed in mismatching pajamas. He never really gave her shit about it, though, because he didn’t look much better himself. He listened to her grumble about how aggravating hospital patients were, that she should have gone for a journalism major rather than med school. She never meant it, and Tim simply listened to her half-hearted complaints with a kiss on her forehead and a contented grin.

The biggest issue they had in their relationship, though, was Tim’s job. More than once, he found himself in a tired argument about how often he worked.

“But you just came back from a business trip to Nevada a week ago!” Claire huffed, jaw tensed with blatant annoyance.

Tim resisted the urge to sigh. She had every right to be upset; he didn’t like it, either. Even so, Bruce was down with a back injury, and he wasn’t about to send his father off to a board meeting injured while he lounged at home with a girlfriend he hadn’t even introduced to his family.

“I’m sorry, Claire,” he responded, trying to keep his voice soft because he _hated_ arguing with her, and he did mean every word he said. “I really am, but this is important. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

Claire bit her cheek and avoided his sorrowful gaze. “You always say that,” she murmured, but her voice was no longer heated, all the fight drained out of her.

“And haven’t I always kept that promise?” he asked, tentatively reaching out for her, nervous that this might be the time she finally shoved him away.

Claire hummed. “Yeah, you do.” She leaned into his embrace, and he let himself wrap his arms around her. “You know I can’t stay mad at you when you’re so damn honest about everything right, Tim?”

He let out a small chuckle, his chin resting atop her wavy, brown hair. “Good. That was the plan.”

“You’re an ass,” she retorted, but it came out more of a jest.

“But I’m your ass, so it’s fine.”

Tim didn’t nearly regret speaking to her in that Starbucks line as he thought he would in the beginning. Tim had never been one for relationships – hell, his parents never showed affection, so how was he supposed to? – but Claire came, and he suddenly found himself learning from her. Claire was affectionate to the point where she almost reminded him of Dick, with her sporadic hugs and pecks on his cheek. It took a while for him to realize it, but once he did, he couldn’t stop saying it.

“Claire, I love you,” he would murmur to her as she snored in her sleep, drool pooling onto her pillow. He greeted her with it every morning when she shuffled into the kitchen, the crust still in the corners of her eyes. He whispered it as she threw herself in bed, pale complexion staring back at him, no traces of makeup on her face.

Tim made it no secret that he loved Claire most when she was at her “worst.”

So when she strutted into the kitchen with all the elegance of a peacock one morning, Tim had to do a double-take. His normally disheveled girlfriend wore a bright pink summer dress with white-strapped, wedged heels. She’d done up her face with her usual foundation and eyeliner, but he could see that she’d taken time to contour and highlight. Soft, pink blush on her cheekbones complimented the similarly-colored eyeshadow she wore. Tim raised an eyebrow, and she simply flashed him her beautiful smile.

He wanted to say something, wanted to ask why the hell she decided to dress up so fancy today. Did she have a job interview or something that he forgot about? Was there a party? Tim glanced down at his own coffee-stained sweatpants and wrinkled shirt. Did he miss some kind of memo?

Despite all his questions, Tim said nothing. Who was he to ask? Just because she was comfortable as herself around him, it didn’t mean she would go out looking like a hot mess for the rest of the world. Still, she never quite dressed like _that_ before. He shrugged it off. It may not be what he was used to, but if she liked it, then he would support her. After all, he didn’t date her for her looks, and she _did_ look stunning in that outfit.

Instead, Tim placed her breakfast plate in front of her as she seated herself at the counter that separated the kitchen and the living room. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, mindful of her hard work, and murmured, “Morning, beautiful.”

She returned the kiss and stared softly back at him. “Morning, babe.”

Tim couldn’t help his own smile from spreading across his face. Everything was fine. What was he so worried about?

* * *

“Claire, you know I would if I could.” Tim resisted the urge to palm his eyes in frustration, though he was angrier at himself than the clearly agitated woman in front of him.

Claire planted her hands on her hips and glared down at her exhausted boyfriend on the couch. His tie was askew and the top buttons were undone, but she couldn’t help the ire she felt. “Tim, we’ve been planning this for weeks!”

“I know!” Tim argued back. “But there’s not much else I can do!”

“Aren’t you the CEO of the damn company?”

Tim clenched his jaw. He hated it when she threw that in his face because she knew it wasn’t that simple, and it made him feel like she thought he wasn’t putting all his effort into making their relationship work out. Maybe he was being irrational, and maybe he was overthinking it, but being the CEO of Wayne Enterprises didn’t automatically mean he could do whatever the hell he wanted. Lucius was there to make sure Tim did what he had to, and the older man had made it abundantly clear that Tim had to attend this meeting.

The problem was, the meeting was in California, and Claire had been excited to take him with her to a music festival in New York City.

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

Tim didn’t know what stopped her – perhaps it was the clear aggravation in his voice – but Claire just sighed in response, shoulders slumping forward as she crossed her arms. At this, Tim flopped bonelessly into their couch, exhaling deeply as the fight was drained out of them both.

“I was just really looking forward to this,” she muttered, toeing the carpet beneath her feet, refusing to make eye contact with him.

“I know, babe,” Tim answered quietly. “I was, too.” Truthfully, he really wasn’t. Music festivals were not his scene. He hated how loud everything was around him, often nursing a headache within minutes of arriving. The smell of weed and alcohol overwhelmed him, and Tim was sensitive enough to migraines as it was. Still, Claire wanted to go, and Tim would have gone if he could.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but he didn’t say he would make it up to her. He knew she didn’t want to hear that right now.

Claire nodded tiredly. “Yeah, I know you are.” She huffed quietly. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.” With that, she made her way to his bedroom, having already dressed for bed.

Once she was gone, Tim let out a long, bone-weary sigh. He didn’t like fighting with her, but there was only so much he could do. He wished he could go with her. With more strength than it should have taken, Tim heaved himself up from the couch and shuffled off to shower and change. When he walked into their bedroom a half-hour later, Claire was sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard and texting on her phone.

He didn’t bother to ask her who she was talking to. Honestly, he didn’t think he wanted to know. She was probably texting one of her friends, venting about how her boyfriend’s job sucked and he couldn’t go with her to the music festival, how unfair it was that their plans changed last minute. He wasn’t as annoyed about it as other people might be. She was angry and disappointed, and she had every right to be. He preferred her to vent to a friend than for them to get into another spat any day of the week.

“I’m gonna turn off the light now. Is that okay?” he asked softly.

Claire let out a quiet sigh, locking her phone and placing it on the nightstand on her side of the bed. “Yeah, that’s fine,” she answered, clearly not in the mood to speak as she shimmied to lay down on her side, facing away from him.

Tim swallowed down the lump in his throat, switching off the bedside lamp on his nightstand, dowsing the room in darkness. He hated going to sleep with anger still simmering between them.

“Love you, Claire,” he whispered. “Night.” He tried not to think about how much it hurt when she didn’t respond to him.

Hours later, Tim still couldn’t sleep, the sounds of Claire’s quiet snores next to him filling the otherwise silent room. She had shifted in her sleep, now facing him. Tim stared at her relaxed face, letting out a deep breath. He loved this girl with everything he had, and he didn’t like disappointing her so often. Tim carefully pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over her face and tucked it behind her ear before glancing at his phone’s clock. It was nearly two in the morning, and he’d been thinking this over for far too long.

As silently as he could, Tim tapped into his Red Robin skills and crept out of the bedroom, heading towards the living room where his work bag was. Tim quickly fished out his laptop and blinked against the bright screen glaring back at him. It took only a few minutes, but Tim managed to switch his flight from California to his original New York flight with Claire. With a satisfied grin, he sent off an email to Lucius that something had come up, and he would attend the meeting over video call in New York. The man probably wouldn’t appreciate that he wasn’t going in person, but given the time Tim sent the email, he’d likely think that there was an emergency. Tim wasn’t going to lie and say there was, but he wasn’t going to deny it either. If Lucius wanted to jump to conclusions, that was fine, so long as Tim got to complete his work and hang out with Claire at the same time.

He shut off his laptop and slid it back into his bag. Making his way back to the bedroom, Tim slipped under the covers and planted a quick kiss to Claire’s forehead. He turned onto his side and wrapped his arm around her before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Later on in the morning, Tim stood at the door, reading through Lucius’ response as he waited for Claire. They were supposed to head to the airport together. As far as Claire knew, Tim’s flight would be leaving before hers, so he planned to wait with her at her terminal until he had to go. He could hardly contain his excitement at the idea of surprising his girlfriend. He wasn’t often able to shift his schedule and work like this, so hopefully, she’d be as ecstatic as he was.

Unfortunately, that meant putting up with her disappointed frown the entire morning. She cleaned herself up once again with full-face makeup and a summer dress. Tim resisted frowning himself. At first, he hadn’t minded her dressing up the way she did now, but the thing that bothered him was that she only did it when she was going out by herself. She never dressed up for their dates or when they hung out. Maybe it was because she felt more comfortable around him, but he couldn’t help the feeling that she might’ve been trying to… _impress_ someone, someone who wasn't _him_. He quickly shook that thought away. He was being ridiculous.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted, pocketing his phone and resting his hand on his luggage case. “You ready?”

Claire returned his greeting with a small smile, but this one seemed more genuine than he’d expected. “Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Tim reached out and gently took her luggage, and she let him. He rolled the cases out into the hallway, lingering as she locked the door behind him. The two of them headed down to Tim’s car, and Claire slid into the passenger seat while Tim lifted the cases into the trunk. She barely glanced at him when he sat in the driver’s seat and started the car. Instead, she asked,

“How long are you going to be gone?” She didn’t sound as upset as she did the night before, only curious, and it made an unwanted flicker of suspicion burn in the pit of Tim’s stomach.

“Only a couple days this time,” Tim replied smoothly, pulling out of the parking space and onto the busy Gotham streets. “I’ll get home around the same time as you.”

Claire hummed, but Tim could hear the slightest bit of disappointment in her tone. He shot her a brief, confused glance, yet he mentioned nothing of it.

A few hours later found Tim and Claire at her terminal, time ticking dangerously close to when Tim’s flight was set to take off. Tim continued to scroll through business emails, but he could see Claire worriedly glancing at her watch. After a few minutes, he finally lifted his head to look at her, smothering a smile.

“You okay?”

“Are _you?”_ she asked incredulously. “Your flight is about to take off without you!”

“No, it’s not,” Tim answered, sipping from his coffee cup.

“Tim, you have three minutes to make it to the other side of the airport.”

Tim pointed to the plane waiting outside, workers milling about. “My flight’s right there.”

Claire’s mouth fell open, and she stared at him in disbelief, eyes occasionally flicking to the plane as it slowly dawned on her. “You switched your flight?” she whispered.

Tim gave a shy shrug, averting his eyes. “I…felt really bad about last night, so I decided to skip out on California.”

“But the meeting…”

“I’ll have to do a video call in our hotel room tomorrow morning, but otherwise, I’m free for the rest of the time.”

“And Lucius?”

Tim gave a small snort. “He’ll have my head when he finds out what I’m doing instead, but it’ll be worth it.” At that, he caught Claire’s eyes, expecting to see her happy, but apprehension filled him almost immediately. His girlfriend’s eyes were…dull, like she was displeased to find out Tim decided to tag along. Isn’t that what she wanted? For him to come along? Why was she so upset by it?

Against his best wishes, a frown made its way onto Tim’s face. “Claire?”

The change was instantaneous. Claire flashed her bright smile at him, but Tim could clearly see how strained it was. “I don’t know what to say!” she laughed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m so…happy!”

_Liar_ , Tim thought, and he regretted it as soon as he thought it, but the truth of it lingered in the back of his mind. He didn’t say anything, though. Tim merely returned her smile with a tiny one of his own. Before their conversation could continue, their flight was called and they boarded the plane. Claire chatted with him on their flight, talking his ear off about all the bands that would be playing tomorrow night. Tim just nodded along, mind preoccupied with Claire’s reaction at the airport. He tried to shake it off, but it still stuck with him. Something was wrong.

The next night, after Tim had finished his business call for WE, he and Claire walked around the music festival. Tim was right: he hated it. Music blared in his ears, several people had nearly spilled their beers on him, the smell of weed clung to his skin and clothes, and his head started pounding within five minutes of being there. And still, he gritted his teeth and bared it, slipping his calloused hand into Claire’s soft one so as to not lose her in the crowd. At this, she sent him a warm smile and continued to pull him towards a crowd that surrounded a large stage. A band Tim didn’t know the name of started to play, and if he was being honest, their music sucked. But everyone else seemed to enjoy it, though “everyone else” consisted of people who were drunk, high, feeding off the crowd’s energy, or a combination of all three. Whatever it was, Tim wasn’t feeling it, and he wanted nothing more than to _escape_.

“Claire,” he called out, having to yell for her to hear him although they stood not a foot apart, “you hungry?”

She turned to him and nodded, a smile brightening her face. He couldn’t help but smile back. “Starving!” she answered. “There should be food stalls back there!” She pointed in a general direction. “Wanna go grab something?”

He could tell she didn’t want to leave, so he just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll go grab something for us. Want anything in particular?”

Claire shrugged. “Surprise me.”

Tim nodded and headed off in the direction of the food stalls. He didn’t leave for long, and when he turned around, food in one hand for them to share and two soda cans in the other, Tim’s heart froze at the sight.

Claire is where he left her, but she’s talking animatedly with another man. There’s a certain kind of smile on her face that he hasn’t seen in weeks, one that hasn’t been aimed at him in a while. Tim tries to tell himself that he’s not jealous, but he’s also not comfortable with leaving his girlfriend with this stranger for too long. He makes his way back to Claire.

When he arrives, it takes Claire a few seconds to notice his presence. She beams at him as she gushes about how this guy Tim doesn’t know is named Henry and how he’s an old classmate from high school.

“He’s in a band, Tim!” she squeals, as if it’s the most exciting thing she’s ever heard. “He’s the lead guitarist for the Crimson Vandals!”

Tim has no idea who the fuck the Crimson Vandals are, and he’s not sure he wants to know. Besides, if he was jealous before, he certainly wasn’t now. Henry was a _guitarist_. Tim could play the guitar, the piano, and the violin with his eyes closed. Being left behind so often by his parents caused abandonment issues, sure, but it also left him with a hell of a lot of free time, so Tim was _not_ envious of this guy’s musical talents. However, Tim decided he did not like the man in front of him, especially with the way Henry grinned at him like he knew something Tim didn’t.

Despite it all, Tim pulled out all the stops during the conversation, channeling his inner Janet Drake manners and charming CEO of Wayne Enterprises smile. He introduced himself to Henry, shook the man’s sweaty hand, and grinned through it all. He ignored Henry’s smug looks – because what the hell could he possibly be so pleased about? – and tried not to let Claire’s constant compliments bother him. He tried his best to not notice how all Claire did was boast about Henry to Tim, but said nothing about Tim’s accomplishments to Henry. It was like Tim didn’t exist to her, like he wasn’t anything special, like he wasn’t her _boyfriend_. It was fine.

The conversation lasted longer than he would’ve liked, but eventually, Henry cut into Claire’s brown-nosing – because that’s really what it fucking was – and said,

“Sorry, Claire. It was really nice to see you again, but my band’s going on in a few minutes. See you around Gotham?”

“Sounds great!” Claire laughed, and Tim felt sick at how that tinkling laugh sounded eerily like the one she used to flirt with him at Starbucks, not her usual wheezing one she used around Tim and her friends. Henry waved to them and started off towards backstage.

Immediately, Claire whirled on Tim, ignoring the food that had long gone cold in his hands and the sodas that had warmed. She grabbed his arm and pleaded desperately, “Can we stay just a little bit longer? I know you want to go back to the hotel room, but I _really_ wanna see Henry’s set! He’s amazing! You’ll love him!”

Tim was certain he wouldn’t, and his nerves were already frayed from the way he’d just been treated during that conversation, but then he made the mistake of looking into those doe-like eyes he fell in love with. He knew he couldn’t say no.

So he bit back a sigh and nodded. “Sure.”

Claire squealed in delight and turned away from him to face the stage. Tim glanced at the food and drinks in his hands, huffing lowly before turning to a couple behind them and offering it up to them. They gratefully took it – Tim was a little concerned with how trusting they were of a stranger handing them food – and he spun around to face Claire once more. He watched Henry climb on to the stage with the rest of his band, a red and black guitar strapped across his chest. Tim shot a look at Claire, dread welling up inside of him as he took in her awestruck gaze.

Claire stared up at Henry like the bastard had hung the moon and the stars. She looked at him like he was everything she wanted in a man, the same way she used to look at Tim. A dazed smile crossed her face, and she looked more content than she had in a while. Tim forced himself to look away.

The lead singer of the band finally opened his mouth, and Tim braced himself for an introduction, but what he did not expect was, “We are the Crimson Vandals!” to be shouted in a death-metal scream. Tim’s heart dropped to his feet as the drums, bass, and guitar kicked in, blaring all around him. The singer- no, the _screamer_ shrieked into the microphone, and Tim wanted nothing but to crawl into a secluded hole and cover his ears as the crowd went wild, including Claire. Throughout the whole performance - if Tim could even call it that, considering how often Henry blatantly missed notes – Claire never took her eyes off the damn guitarist.

And Tim was starting to wonder if he was losing a competition he hadn’t known he was competing in.

* * *

Tim let out a deep, contented sigh as he took a sip of the hot coffee in his hands, walking down the busy sidewalks of Gotham. It’d been a couple of weeks since the music festival, and neither he nor Claire mentioned that night, choosing instead to dance around each other and keeping a distance Tim so desperately wanted to close. She spent more nights at her duplex than his apartment now, and when she was in his bed, she laid herself far away from him. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t reach her if he tried, but it was clear she didn’t want him to. So he gave her space, thinking maybe that’s what she wanted, and he was willing to give her anything she wanted if it meant that they could maybe make this work.

Tim shook his head and attempted to push those thoughts away. It would do him no good to keep thinking about it, especially when he had to get back to WE. His lunch break wasn’t that long, and he was already cutting it pretty close.

As he walked, he couldn’t help but glance into Gotham Park while he passed by. A smile graced his face, watching young kids race around the playground. A few teenagers were playing Frisbee, while adults sat on the park benches. One couple caught his eye. They were sitting on a blanket, clearly out for a picnic, but that girl…

Tim nearly dropped his cup. His heart lurched to his throat. He couldn’t breathe.

_What the fuck?_ he thought, hands shaking as he stared at Claire sitting on the blanket, lips locked with Henry. Her eyes were closed, and she looked more at peace than he had seen her this past month. Tim knew they were going through a rough patch, but _this_...? Had it really come down to _this?_

To any bystander, Tim must have looked like he was enjoying the park view. On the inside, he was screaming. How could he have let this happen? How could he let her slip through his fingers so easily?

Tim sucked in a sharp breath, trying his best to school the anxiety building in his chest. Fuck, this couldn’t be real. Did he really just lose the one he so willingly gave all his love to? Did Claire honestly take his heart and run with it?

He forced his legs to move. He couldn’t stay here. He had work to do at WE. Lucius was already peeved at him for skipping out on California for New York, and Tim couldn’t blame him. He wished he hadn’t gone to New York, too.

He should probably call out to her, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to make a scene, didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of all these bystanders. Had he been a lesser person, maybe he would have, but he was the adopted son of one of the world’s most famous billionaires and the CEO of a corporate giant. He had to be better than this, no matter how much he wanted to break down and cry.

So Tim did what he knew best. He took a deep breath and called upon the lessons his mother instilled in him, the lessons Bruce tried to dissuade him from using out of fear that Tim wouldn’t know when to stop. Timothy Drake plastered on his calm, unbothered face and strode away from the park with a rigid spine and a gait that radiated power. He was not going to falter over this. Not here, not now.

In the back of his mind, beneath all of what he pretended was alright, he could only think of one thing: _I should have known._

He settled himself in his office and didn’t leave until most of the workers had left for the night. Lucius came knocking on his door, a concerned frown on his face as he announced that he was leaving. Tim simply waved him a good night; he hadn’t spoken much to anyone since returning from his lunch break. He dismissed Lucius’ warnings to not stay too late. Tim worked for a little while longer, fingers typing away but work not being done, before he finally conceded defeat. With a resigned huff, Tim grabbed his keys and made his way to his car.

Unfortunately, despite Tim’s best efforts, Claire lived fairly close to his apartment, which meant he had to drive past her home to get to his. He tried hard not to look because he knew, deep down, he wouldn’t be able to handle the sight he saw at the park again. For all that he told himself to _avoid looking, Tim, you’re not gonna like what you’ll see_ , he still averted his eyes from the dark road to glance at the duplex Claire lived in. He couldn’t help but notice that her car wasn’t in the driveway, and dread flooded every fiber of his being. If she wasn’t home at this time of night, there were only two other places she could be, and Tim felt sick at the thought of her being at any one of them.

_Please don’t be at my apartment, please don’t be at my apartment_. The forlorn wish repeated itself over and over in his mind to the point where Tim wasn’t sure if he was thinking it or praying to some divine entity. He couldn’t handle her being in his home right now. He wasn’t sure what he would do. Tim didn’t get angry often and showed his anger less so. But Tim did get hurt. Frequently, too. If she appeared in front of him so soon after breaking his heart, he just might lose his mind.

As it turns out, he needn’t have worried. If fate wasn’t already cruel enough to put Claire’s home so close to his, it decided to place Henry’s even closer. Tim couldn’t look away, couldn’t avoid staring as he watched the woman he loved walk with linked arms with a man he barely even knew. Claire was laughing at something Henry had said, face bright with the smile that used to light up Tim’s whole world. Even now, even after knowing what she’s done, Tim could still feel his heart skip a beat when he saw how happy she was.

He just wished he could’ve been the one to put that smile there.

_I should have known_ , he berated himself as he sped past the couple. He didn’t look in the rearview mirror.

~~He did.~~

* * *

Since he started dating Claire, Tim went out as Red Robin less and less. He would get texts from his brothers and Bruce often, asking him if he wanted to patrol with them that night or help solve a case they were working on. More often than not, he would deny patrolling, but he would almost always help them with their casework. He knew his family was suspicious, and he felt bad about bailing on them, but they all had an unspoken view on relationships: _l_ _ove and the superhero life just don’t work._ Dating Claire felt wrong at first, like he was betraying his family in a way, like he was choosing her over being a vigilante. He wasn’t trying to – he loved being Red Robin – but Claire couldn’t know about his nightly activities, and Tim felt guilty, so he never introduced his girlfriend of almost a year to his father and brothers.

Well, he wasn’t dating Claire anymore.

Which led to now, patrolling Gotham in a suit he hadn’t worn for weeks. Except he wasn’t really patrolling insofar as he was sitting on a rooftop and staring blankly at the city before him.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. The images of Claire and Henry at the park and walking down the sidewalk ingrained themselves in his mind. What had he done wrong? Was he not good enough? Did he not show her enough love? God knows Tim tried, but loving never came easy to him. By the time someone took the effort to show Tim how much they appreciated him, Janet and Jack Drake had already damaged him. Bruce tried – he tried so damn hard, and Tim knows it – to show Tim how much he cared. But being loved and giving it back were two very different things, and Tim wasn’t good at either.

Maybe it had been his job. He frequently traveled for Wayne Enterprises, but Tim thought he balanced out his work and personal lives well enough. Sure, Claire would get annoyed when he had to leave, but that was mostly for the trips planned last-minute; otherwise, they would work around it and set up a date night for when he got back.

He couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t good enough. First his parents, and now Claire. Why couldn’t he be enough?

“Little Red?”

Tim’s head snapped up, eyes blinking furiously behind his mask in an attempt to push back tears. He knew that voice, and he couldn’t help but cringe at the shame that threatened to overwhelm him.

_Fuck. Jason._

If there was anyone who could get Tim to talk, it was Jason, so of course, the universe decided to send his dear older brother.

Tim cleared his throat as a way to hide the fact that he’d been eerily close to crying. “Hood.”

Footsteps sounded from behind him, carefully making their way over to the ledge where Tim sat. He knew Jason could walk much quieter than that, but he appreciated the lengths his brother took to avoid startling him. In the corner of his eye, he saw Jason lower himself to sit next to Tim, but the younger brother turned his head away. He didn’t want Jason to see his face, to see the blatant pain written all over him.

“It’s been a while,” Jason started, taking off his helmet and leaving only his domino mask in place. “The old man was seconds away from coming to find you himself before your tracker finally showed up.”

Tim closed his eyes, though he knew the motion was hidden behind his own domino. He dragged in a weary breath. “What are you doing here, Hood?”

“Getting ice cream,” Jason deadpanned. He scoffed. “The fuck do you think I’m doing? I’m checking on you. We only ever see you once or twice a month, three if you’re feeling particularly generous. You hardly come out as Red Robin anymore, and now that you finally have, your tracker shows that you haven’t moved for two damn hours!”

Two hours? Had he really been sitting here for that long? And did he honestly avoid his family that much? Tim wrapped his arms around himself, still avoiding Jason’s gaze. How much of his life revolved around Claire? How much distance did he put between himself and his family by chasing after a love that tossed him away like yesterday’s trash?

Tim couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, he _couldn’t fucking-_

“What’s going on? Where have you been?”

Tim didn’t answer, merely shaking his head and sucking in sharp, shallow breaths. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t handle this. Not here, not now. It was too soon. Damn it all…

“Baby bird?”

Tim tried to drown out the concern in Jason’s voice. He couldn’t hear it right now. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to _think_ about it. This past year, Tim had given all of himself to Claire. He focused all his attention on her and pushed away from the ones who truly cared about him. A year. _Almost a whole year_. And she threw him away like nothing. All that love he finally tried to give, and he’d given it to someone who hadn’t deserved it.

Jason reached out to place a tentative hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Red-”

Tim batted the hand away with a little more force than he intended. He quickly staggered to his feet. He needed to leave, _now_. “I-I’m sorry. I gotta go.”

“What the hell? Red-”

“I have to go. I’m sorry. Tell the others I’m sorry, too. I’ll talk to you later.” Tim stumbled away from his older brother as fast as he could.

“Wait! Don’t-!”

Tim blocked out the rest of Jason’s calls and hastened his pace, leaping across the rooftops and grappling away before he could change his mind. Fresh tears threatened to burn his eyes, but Tim refused to let them fall. He hoped Jason wouldn’t try to follow him. He needed time to figure this out, to figure out what he was going to do about Claire. He scoffed at himself, an ugly and self-deprecating noise that sounded harsh in his own ears. He’d already spent a year thinking about her.

_How much more of your time are you going to devote to her, Tim?_

He couldn’t even answer his own damn question.

* * *

Early the next morning, Tim stood in his kitchen, breakfast cooking on the stove. He had changed out of his costume at one of his safe houses before coming back to his apartment, just in case. Now he stared down at the sizzling eggs on the pan, the apartment void of any morning greetings or half-dressed girlfriends. Tim had his fair share of waking up alone while dating Claire, particularly when she spent the night at her home instead, but he’d always woken up knowing that he’d hold her again soon.

He wanted to vomit at the thought of holding the person who so willingly tore him apart. Claire wasn’t his anymore, and he wasn’t hers. They didn’t belong to each other, hadn’t for a while. How could he not have seen this coming sooner?

Tim was startled out of his train of thought by the sound of doorknob rattling, a key being inserted and twisted in the lock. Uncharacteristic anger bubbled up inside him. Was she really coming back here? After what she had done? The nerve of her-

“Morning, babe!”

The sound grated his ears, and Tim had to take several deep breaths to calm himself down. His grip on the spatula in his hand tightened. His other hand sought out to grasp the kitchen counter. He didn’t even bother to turn around.

“What a day yesterday! You wouldn’t believe what happened!”

Oh, he knew all too well…

“So you remember that position that opened up at my job last week? The one that would make me the head of the oncology department? Well, guess what? They gave the position to _Michael_. I’ve been there longer than that asshole. I have more experience, and he _still_ got it instead of me! I swear, they probably only gave it to him because he was a guy.”

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, trying his best to drown out her talking. Her voice taunted him, mocked him. She spoke like nothing was wrong, like _she’d_ done nothing wrong. She knew she was cheating on him with Henry, yet she continued to play him for the fool. Why did she have to make this so difficult? Why didn’t she just break up with him?

“But anyway, it’s way too early for that kind of negativity. It’s just frustrating. What about you? How’s work? Did Lucius punish you for skipping out on Cali for NYC?”

The last question was added as a joke, but, to Tim, it was anything but. New York City, the beginning of their relationship’s end. In hindsight, it was so obvious. Claire never wanted Tim there. The night before they left, when he assumed she was texting her friends, she was probably texting Henry, telling him that her workaholic boyfriend wouldn’t be coming to the festival. Tim had ruined her plans. She was likely disappointed that she wouldn’t have the weekend with Henry as she’d planned.

Or maybe Tim was just jumping to irrational conclusions but as of right now, he didn’t give a _single flying fuck-_

Tim placed the spatula down on the counter with barely restrained anger, ignoring the eggs that were beginning to burn and let his now free hand join the other in grabbing the counter. He leaned against the marble top, hunching over and pushing himself as far away from Claire as he could.

Before he could stop himself, he heard himself asking, “Claire, do you love me?”

Deep down, beneath all the simmering rage, Tim knew the answer. It didn’t hurt any less. In fact, it only hurt more when he found himself wishing that she would just lie and spare his feelings instead.

He heard Claire hesitate. “…What?”

At this, Tim turned his head to the side, locking eyes with Claire from over his shoulder. With this view, he could see the shock and confusion written clearly on her face, but there was an underlying hint of fear sitting there. Tim couldn’t figure out for the life of him why she was scared. She chose this, didn’t she?

“You heard what I said,” Tim replied, voice cold and devoid of emotion. He bet his face matched his tone. He asked again, “Do you love me?”

Claire didn’t answer.

After a few seconds, Tim decided he’d had enough.

Abruptly straightening, Tim snatched his keys from the bowl on the kitchen island and stormed out of the apartment without uttering another word. He ignored Claire calling after him, slamming the door behind him with more than enough force to make it rattle on its hinges. Tim thundered down the stairs and all but threw himself into his car. He turned the key in its ignition before flooring it onto the Gotham streets.

He drove for hours. He would hop onto the highway, drive without a destination in mind, before turning back around and returning to the streets of Gotham. Hands on the wheel and foot like lead on the gas pedal, Tim let the memories of him and Claire swirl in his head. All he could think about was the way it felt to hold her, how her body fit perfectly against his. He remembered laughing at one of her corny jokes or cuddling with her on the couch as they watched the rom-coms she loved so much. He couldn’t stand those movies, but they made her happy, and when Claire was happy, so was he.

Or, at least, he used to be.

Tim gripped his steering wheel tighter, eyes watering. No. _No_. He had gone all this time without crying - he hadn’t shed a single damn tear - and he wasn’t going to start now. 

_What did I do wrong?_ he wondered, heart throbbing painfully in his chest and throat burning from the strain of holding back his pain. _I gave her everything._

He supposed that was the part he hated the most, the fact that he gave her everything he could. He sacrificed his time, friendships, and _family_ for her. As much as he hated to admit it, Jason spoke the truth last night. After thinking back on it, Tim could hardly recall the last time he went to the Manor just for the hell of it. Lately, he showed up for a birthday or special occasion, and once or twice to talk to Bruce about WE. Other than that, he visited maybe once or twice a month. He ditched his _family_.

For someone who obviously didn’t love him.

Tim scoffed to himself as he watched the sunset behind Gotham’s skyscrapers, the sky darkening. Did she ever love him? Surely, she had to have, right? Otherwise, why else would she stick around for so long? It’s not like she needed his money; Claire did well for herself all on her own. Had Tim been a regular, middle-class man, Claire would have been the breadwinner in the relationship. She had been on track to be the head of the oncology department in Gotham General (but, apparently, another coworker got the promotion, and Tim couldn’t help the petty feeling of satisfaction at that). So what had been the point? Why had she toyed with him like that? Did she get off on the thrill of dating two guys at once, of breaking Tim’s heart so brutally?

And, yet, here Tim was, blaming himself for their failed relationship.

Seriously, what the fuck? Was this what love did to people? This was some fucking _bullshit_ -

A loud growl filled the silence of the car - he couldn’t stand the damn love songs on the radio - and Tim took a hand off the steering wheel to place it on his stomach, a hunger pang rolling through him. He huffed in frustration, remembering how he stormed out of his _own damn apartment_ and left his breakfast burning on the kitchen stove. He only recently got himself used to normal eating habits, something his family had been trying so hard to do for so long, and here he was, not eating for a whole day and stewing in a clusterfuck of unhealthy emotions.

He should probably get some food, eat something before he passed out, but he ultimately decided against it. He didn’t feel like talking to teenage workers in a drive-through or some older adult at a bodega. So with a long, drawn-out, resigned hum, Tim continued driving aimlessly, the image of Claire and Henry on the picnic blanket still burning in his mind.

* * *

_What am I doing?_

Tim didn’t know why he was here, or why he thought this would make him feel anything different, but before he could stop himself, Tim was driving down the same road he was yesterday on his way back to his apartment. Henry’s house, now that he’s looking at it more closely, isn’t all that bad. It’s simple, modern, and a decent size. The thing that bothers Tim the most is the impractical, large window that showcases most of the living room to the street outside when the curtains are pulled back. From inside his car, Tim could see the view, and if he had any hope before, it was certainly broken now.

A pitiful sound that he refused to voice got caught in his throat as his eyes landed on Claire snuggling on the couch with Henry. The musician’s arm was slung around her shoulders, and his girlfriend - _ex-girlfriend_ \- was curled up into a ball at his side. There was a reflection of colors on their faces from something playing on a TV Tim couldn’t see. His throat closed up, and Tim bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying or screaming or however, else his emotions so badly wanted to express themselves. He remembered when they would cuddle like that on Tim’s couch, how it felt to have her warmth pressed up against him. 

How could she? How could she break his heart this morning, yet lounge around so carelessly with someone else? She _broke him_ , and it didn’t seem like she cared one bit. 

Tim drove off, hitting the gas and attempting to blur the godforsaken memory from his mind. He was done. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t have her anymore, didn’t _want_ her anymore. He wanted her gone. He _needed_ her gone. 

Pressure steadily built itself in Tim’s chest with every passing minute, growing heavier and heavier. He parked his car in a shopping district, slamming his car door as he exited with the same barely controlled anger he exhibited that morning. He stalked his way into a liquor store, grabbed the first three bottles of wine he could find and paid, paying hardly any attention to the cashier who looked at him warily, like he knew Tim was planning on drinking his sorrows away. 

As he placed the bag with the wine bottles in the back driver-side footwell of his car, neon lights from another store caught his eye. A hardware store sat in the same plaza, and after debating for only a few seconds, Tim walked in. Without sparing any time or thought, Tim grabbed a cart and started dropping several collapsed cardboard boxes of all sizes inside, as well as a few rolls of duct tape, masking tape, a couple of bundles of packaging wrap, and some pairs of scissors. He wasn’t satisfied as he made his purchase, but he was close enough to it that he felt significantly more motivated as he dumped everything into his car’s trunk. 

Getting everything into his apartment by himself was a hassle, but he had enough anger and hurt to fuel him. He dropped it all at the doorway and for a moment, he just...stood there. A small, pathetic moan escaped him as he looked around. 

Claire was _everywhere._

The pots and pans in the kitchen? Hers. The Polaroids taped to the wall? Hers. The short bookshelves scattered across the living room? Hers. The picture frames resting on top of the bookshelves? Hers. The small, glass figurines on the coffee table? Hers. The medical textbooks and romance novels littering the shelves? Hers. He didn’t even want to think about how much of her stuff was still in his bedroom. 

One look at the kitchen showed that the breakfast he had been making earlier was gone. He checked the trash can. It wasn’t there either. Tim scoffed incredulously, the noise sounding suspiciously like the beginnings of a sob, as the realization dawns on him. She had the _audacity_ to treat him like dirt then take her time leaving, eating _fucking breakfast_ before she left?

Tim’s fist met the marble counter before he could stop himself. Pain laced up his hand, but an experimental flex of his fingers told him they weren’t broken, probably just bruised. That was fine. He could deal with that by himself.

But packing? Tim gazed mournfully over the expanse of his home, the memories of Claire mocking him from every corner of every room. No, he couldn’t do this by himself. He didn’t deserve their help, didn’t deserve to ask after what he’d done, but he couldn’t help it. He needed them. He never needed them more.

With a shaking hand, Tim pulled out his phone and sent off two quick texts to the Bird’s Nest group chat.

_Guys, I need your help._

_I’m at my apartment._

Tim hesitated for a moment, then sent another one:

_Please._

The replies were almost immediate, and with each one, the pressure building in his chest loosened just the slightest bit more.

**Jason** **  
**_On my way, baby bird._

**Dick** _  
_ _Be there soon, Timmy._

**Damian** **  
**_Grayson, come get me._

Tim let out a watery but relieved laugh at the responses flooding his phone. God, he didn’t deserve his brothers. After so long of avoiding them, they still dropped everything and were coming to help him. Even Damian. And maybe it wasn’t fair that Tim felt the need to point out Damian the most considering how much better the two of them were doing, but Tim honestly hadn’t expected his younger brother to be so willing to help.

His heart was a little less heavy as he pocketed his phone, but it still hurt way too much. All he could do for now, though, was sigh as he set up a cardboard box and grabbed a bottle of wine. He popped open the bottle and unceremoniously dropped to sit on the floor. He snatched up one of the bundles of packaging wrap and a roll of masking tape. He started to wrap up Claire’s little glass knick-knacks, and there were _so many_ , as he waited for his brothers to show.

His eyes started to burn again, and Tim, too tired to fight, let the tears roll down his cheeks.

* * *

Jason dismounts from his motorcycle at the same time Dick pulls up in his car with Damian. Standing at the entrance to Tim’s apartment building, Jason watches as his two other brothers join him. None of them are smiling.

“Any idea what this is about?” Dick asks as they make their way inside.

Jason shakes his head. “Not a damn clue. I’m telling you, though, he wasn’t acting right yesterday.”

Dick hums. “Yeah, so you’ve said. He just...took off?”

“Never even _looked_ at me.”

“Drake has never been open about his emotions,” Damian points out, arms crossed as if he's bored, but he can’t fool his older brothers.

Jason snorts. “None of us are, Demon Brat. But you didn’t see him. He was just acting... _weird_. Like he was hiding something.”

A worried frown makes its way onto Dick’s face as they approach Tim’s door. “Well, only one way to find out,” he murmurs as he fishes Tim’s apartment key from his pocket and unlocks the door. 

Upon opening it, the three brothers _knew_. 

They haven’t been to Tim’s apartment in months, but even so, they can still spot every little thing that didn’t belong to their brother. Hints of another person littered the apartment, from flower vases in the kitchen and windowsills to the pictures of Tim and some brunette on the walls and in frames. 

What concerns them the most is the sight of their brother, sitting on the floor by a coffee table. His eyes are red and puffy, a sign he’d been crying but no tears are on his face, and in his hands is a glass figurine of an angel, which he's wrapping so delicately. A half-empty bottle of wine sits on the coffee table, and for as much as it concerns them, the three of them don’t take it away. Tim glances up and locks eyes with them.

In the end, no one says a word. Dick moves first, grabbing a collapsed cardboard box and setting it up as he makes his way to the kitchen. Jason sits next to Tim, his knees barely brushing against Tim’s, and grabs his own glass statue, wrapping it with less care than Tim but still gentle. Damian grabs his own box, too, and moves over to one of the bookshelves. He reaches for the medical textbooks and drops them in, one by one. As they work, the three brothers carefully take in small details of the one who broke their kind sibling’s heart. With every item they pack away, their anger steadily grows. They never met the girl, and she better pray they never do.

Damian holds his tongue, despite how badly he wants to rant and rave. It was no secret he and Drake started off on the wrong foot - Damian tried to _kill_ him several times - but they’ve been doing so much better, reaching a point like now, where they would do anything for each other. He’s angry, livid, _enraged_. He wants to say how ridiculous this is, that they shouldn’t be packing up her stuff for her, that Drake needs to stop catering to the people who hurt him. He doesn’t. Because he takes one look at his older brother and he _knows_. Drake isn’t doing this for his ex. For once in his life, Drake isn’t doing something for the convenience of others; he’s doing it for _himself_ , and he wants the girl who broke his heart _gone_. So he keeps quiet and looks at the other two in the apartment. Grayson has his lips pursed tightly and muscles taut, like he’s trying so hard not to hold Drake and whisper condolences in his younger brother’s ear. Todd’s jaw is clenched, teeth probably close to cracking, and his hands shake in the way that he’s itching to grab a gun and beat the shit out of someone.

But none of them do what they really want to, because it’s not what Tim wants or needs, and they know that, and they respect it. They do it because they love him, love him more than this unknown woman ever did, and they’ll be damned if they ever broke that trust.

It’s quiet for a while, minus the noises of packing. They can see Dick in the kitchen that’s attached to the living room, separated only by the counter. The clanking of pots and pans from where he places them into the box mixes with the crinkling of packaging wrap and the thumps of textbooks dropping on top of each other. If they focus on only the sounds, they can all pretend like they can’t hear Tim sniffling or swallowing thickly as he tries his best to hide the tears his brothers so desperately wish he would just let out. He may have been crying before they arrived, but he’s stopped, and they know he really needs to let out his emotions, but Tim is stubborn. He won’t do it, and all his brothers can do is purse their lips and not force him to cry.

Jason is the first to break the tense silence.

“Do we have to worry about her walking in?” His voice is low, careful. His tone is just this side of accusatory, but not at Tim, _never_ at Tim. It’s said like Dick and Damian aren’t supposed to hear, but it’s so damn quiet in the apartment that, of course, they do, and their ears perk up to listen for the answer. 

He phrases it like they're wary of her walking in, even though they're really not. In fact, they're kind of hoping she would so they have someone to take their anger out on. But at the same time, they're honestly hoping she wouldn't because even if it'll make them feel better, her presence will only bring Tim more pain, and he didn't deserve that. It doesn't change the fact that if anyone should be worried about her walking in, it's her.

None of them are sure what they would do if the girl decided to show up, but it appears they didn’t have to worry, because even though it takes Tim a moment to answer, their brother eventually whispers a broken,

“No. She’s at his apartment.”

The three of them each tighten their grip on the items in their hands. They don’t miss how the answer is phrased, and if they weren’t angry before, they sure as hell are now. They have their suspicions - they were trained by the World’s Greatest Detective, after all - but at the end of it, they’re only assuming. As much as they didn’t want to ask, because they knew it must be painful for Tim to speak about, Jason clears his throat.

“...‘His’?”

“Her boyfriend’s.”

The implication is clearer now, so blatantly obvious and bluntly spoken. Fiery pits of hate burn in their chests, but the three brothers say nothing. They want to, but it’s not worth it. Maybe in a couple days, when Tim is feeling a bit lighter, they’ll sit in one of their bedrooms and vent, but for now, they hear the confession, let it sink in, and continue their packing.

After some time, Dick finishes up with the kitchen and rejoins them in the living room. He takes a new box - a smaller one this time - and walks past Tim, gently brushing his leg against the younger male’s shoulder as he passes. He heads to one of the bookshelves that stands up to his waist, the top littered with picture frames. His heart hurts looking at them because the Tim in these photos is smiling brightly with an equally happy girl in his arms, and it’s such a stark contrast to the heartbroken boy sitting cross-legged on the floor, half-empty wine bottle on one side and a half-filled moving box on the other. They had seemed so happy together, and Dick can’t help but wonder what the hell went wrong. He’s sure Tim is thinking the same thing, too.

With a deep breath, Dick lifts a picture of Tim and his girlfriend from the bookshelf - they’re at an ice rink, hot chocolates in their hands, though Dick is sure that’s coffee in Tim’s - and quietly asks, “What do you want to do with these?”

Tim raises his head from where he’d been wrapping a glass Mickey Mouse statue, either ignoring or not noticing how Jason and Damian turn to look, too. From this angle, Tim can’t see their faces, but Dick can, and he’s only slightly surprised to see the not-quite-sympathy but something close written all over his usually stoic brothers’ faces.

Tim looks at the picture, and he stares a little too long, but Dick doesn’t move or acknowledge it. He gives his brother the time he needs, standing completely still, until Tim suddenly clears his throat, averting his eyes back to the figurine he’s holding. His hands are trembling, but his voice doesn’t sound like it as he steadily responds with a short, “Take out the picture, pack the frame.”

Dick nods and complies. He doesn’t ask what Tim’s going to do with the photos. It’s none of his business, and it won’t be unless Tim asks him for help, so he continues on, opening the backs of the frames and stacking the photos into a pile. He puts the frames back together after each one and places them into the box. Damian and Jason have returned to their own packing, but Dick can see from the corner of his eye how Jason shifts the slightest bit closer to Tim. Their little brother doesn’t outwardly acknowledge it, but that doesn’t matter because they know Tim appreciates it; he’s just unable to say the words right now. That’s fine, too. They’re not here to be thanked; they’re here to support him.

About an hour later, Dick’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He pauses from where he’s unpinning the Polaroids from the wall, taking out his phone and reading the text he received. It’s from Bruce.

**Bruce** **  
**_Just got home. Where are you?_

Dick hesitates. He’s not sure if he should respond, doesn’t know if Tim wants their father here or not. Deep down, he’s sad to understand that Tim probably feels ashamed, not that he should. It’s an unspoken thing that relationships, though not forbidden, are a bit of a taboo subject in their family. It brings too much hurt and drama, but Dick knows that they’re all tempted from time to time, and Bruce would never say “I told you so,” especially when Tim’s hurting as much as he is right now.

“It’s Bruce,” Dick clarifies, soft voice entirely too loud in the silent apartment. “He wants to know where we are.” He turns to look at Tim, who hasn’t moved an inch. Jason and Damian are staring at him, worry just barely disguised in their eyes. “Should I tell him?”

Tim doesn’t respond verbally, merely nodding his head. So Dick shoots back a text saying where they are but nothing else, slipping the phone back into his pocket. His message is brief, but he knows Bruce will understand, have that sixth sense that the situation is... _sensitive_ at best. Their father's always been good at reading between their lines. It's also been months since they've visited Tim's apartment or even _seen_ him. It's not like they wouldn't come just to say hi, but they haven't, not for a while, and Bruce would know. Dick breathes deeply through his nose, the slightest bit calmer knowing that Bruce is very likely on his way. 

He takes down a picture of the girl kissing Tim on the cheek. Tim looked so happy. Dick's heart hurts.

* * *

Bruce stands in front of Tim’s door, flipping the key in his hand over and over. He hasn’t opened it yet, deciding to listen closely for a moment. He can’t hear much from inside, just some quiet shuffling around. No voices are heard, and he wonders how bad things are that not even Dick is speaking. His heart skips. Jason had told him about last night, when he found Tim on the rooftop. He knows something is wrong with his child, but he hasn’t seen Tim in a while, no matter how hard he tried, and every time he did see him, Tim was always smiling and waving off Bruce’s concerns. The smile back then had seemed so real - surely Bruce would have known if it was fake - and he couldn’t help but wonder if that smile would still be on Tim’s face when he walks in now. A large part of him hopes, but he knows deep down that it won’t.

He opens the door and immediately hates that he was right.

Normally, he would reprimand his boys for drinking wine like that, but he takes one look at Tim and says nothing. His poor child. Bruce himself wants to cry at how hurt Tim is. He surveys the room, the pieces falling into place as easily as a child’s jigsaw puzzle. Bruce doesn’t have the title “World’s Greatest Detective” for shits and giggles, but anyone could see the situation here if they looked hard enough.

Besides Tim, who was cradling a glass statue of a heart in his hands, he could see Jason and Dick helping in any way they could. The only one missing is Damian, but a small _thud_ from the hallway catches his attention. His youngest son had moved one box into the hall and was grabbing another, opening it up as he moved back into Tim’s bedroom. Bruce says nothing, only letting his hand lightly pass through Tim’s hair as he brushes by, joining Damian in the privacy of the bedroom.

He locks eyes with his son, and Damian has this look, one that Bruce rarely sees. Damian’s angry, which in and of itself isn’t new, but it’s the fact that he isn’t angry for himself that catches Bruce’s attention. Bruce knows Damian isn’t the only one. He could see it in Jason’s tense jaw and Dick’s rigid spine. He’s the most surprised at Dick, who rarely ever _hates_ people who aren’t Gotham’s criminals, but the girl who shattered Tim’s heart might as well be with the way his eldest son’s back looked ready to snap from pent-up rage.

Damian holds his gaze for a couple seconds longer, an understanding passing between them, before redirecting his attention back to Tim’s dresser. He’s picking up feminine clothing, and Bruce is proud - but also a bit petty - that his son is reining in his anger enough to fold the clothes and pack them away neatly. Bruce doesn’t hesitate to join him. He should feel uncomfortable about touching an unknown woman’s clothing, especially her undergarments, but he doesn’t care. To him, it’s just clothing, and she should feel lucky that they’re even doing this at all. She deserved for her clothes to be dumped out the window and into a Gotham alleyway, but, no. Her clothes were being treated with respect, something she hadn’t thought to show Tim.

Between the two of them, he and Damian finish off the bedroom in no time, throwing in whatever knick-knacks and books that didn’t belong to Tim into the boxes as well. They had just placed the boxes in the living room when Tim, who had been staring at the empty bookshelves, blurts out, “The bookcases are hers, too.”

Still, none of them say anything. Without a word, Bruce leaves the apartment, but he moves quickly, desperate to be back by his son’s side. He’s gone for barely three minutes, a toolbox he kept in his car’s trunk for emergencies in his hand. Immediately, Jason stands and joins him. Damian takes up his spot, knee brushing Tim’s in the same way Jason’s had, and reaches over for another glass figurine. Together, he and Jason deconstruct the bookcases, the noises from the tools the only sounds in the apartment.

After that, it doesn’t take long for everything to be packed away into boxes. Tim watches as Damian wraps up the last of the glass knick-knacks - and, really, there were so many - before letting his eyes pass over the apartment. A lump clogs his throat, and the tears he has so hopelessly attempted to hold back threaten to fall, building up at his waterline. 

He looks around the apartment, and it’s so much more barren than he could ever remember it being. At this point, it’s an apartment, not a home, though he remembers a time when it was, but he wishes he didn’t because it hurts too much to think about. The kitchen is bare, reminding him of the time when he didn’t eat, and the pain in his empty stomach tells him he’s falling back into old habits. His hands shake as he takes in the plain walls, and he wonders if the trembles are from loneliness or hunger. His head throbs painfully, and it’s a toss-up of whether it’s caused by the strain of holding in the tears or caffeine withdrawal, though he guesses it’s safe to assume it’s a little bit of both. 

Except maybe it’s not because it doesn’t go away when he takes one look at Bruce’s loving expression and tears cascade down his cheeks. He tries to stop it, but the memories are crushing him, and Bruce doesn’t look judgemental or disappointed at all, like Tim expected him to be. He can’t stop, and he tries so badly, but he _can’t_. He can feel the wetness drip down to his chin, but that’s not all. His body grows warm as his family surrounds him, arms slinging around his shoulders and waist. He was crying before, but now he’s sobbing, the pain and hurt _finally_ making themselves fully known. He cried a few tears before his brothers arrived, but they weren’t enough, and now he is baring his heart once again. He isn’t afraid, though, to show his heart once more because he knows that his family wouldn’t break it, wouldn’t grab it and rip it apart like a wet paper bag in the way Claire did. His face is buried into a strong chest that smells of sandalwood and musk and it’s _safe_. It’s gentle, it’s caring, it’s loving, and it smells like _home_.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been crying, but the tears taper down gradually until it eventually stops completely. They sit in silence for a moment, and Tim lets his family hold him in a way he never really lets them do because he knows they want it just as much as he _needs_ it. He could feel Damian’s skinny arm around his waist, stiff as if he isn’t sure if he should be allowed to touch him or if he’s even doing it right. Tim wants to reassure him, especially since he appreciates how far they’ve come, but the words seem out of place here and he makes a tired mental note to approach the subject later. Dick is resting his cheek on Tim’s back, sitting behind him and wrapping his arms around Tim’s midsection. Dick’s warm, and though they had their disagreements back when Bruce was stuck in the timestream, they, like he and Damian, have been doing so much better, and he’s grateful that Dick is here for him at all. Jason’s arm is slung across his shoulders, and he’s not quite looking at Tim, but Tim knows he cares, and that’s all that really matters.

Bruce is holding him, one arm finding a spot between Dick’s and Jason’s. The other hand is softly carding through his hair in what was supposed to be a calming manner but is honestly putting him to sleep instead. Bruce is cradling him like he’s the most precious thing in the world, and for just a little while, Tim pretends that he is. But he knows he’s not because if he was, then Claire wouldn’t have left and his family would have loved her and everything would have been great.

But everything is not great, and Tim is not fine.

“You’re staying at the Manor tonight.”

Tim doesn’t argue, not that there’s any room to argue anyway. Bruce’s words were soft and gentle, but they were firm and Tim didn’t dare to fight it. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be alone, and he never felt safer than here in his father’s and brothers’ arms. However, that safety slowly falls away as they each stand, Bruce carefully pulling Tim up with him. 

Tim isn’t ready for the hug to end, though, and he knows he’s going to be embarrassed about it later, but right now, he doesn’t care. He launches himself into Bruce’s arms, and Bruce doesn’t even stumble. He simply wraps his arms around Tim and holds him. Tim knows he’s more than a little drunk, and maybe that’s making him emotional, but he doesn’t _care_. He just feels so alone inside and he doesn’t want to be anymore. He can’t remember the last time he’s needed a hug from Bruce so badly before, especially since their relationship, in the beginning, had been a little unorthodox, but none of that mattered now.

Bruce was the first one to really care about Tim. When Janet and Jack left him behind, forgot about him, and often hurt him in more ways than one, Bruce had always been there to pick up the pieces. They’d never been overly affectionate with one another - particularly because love was a foreign concept to Tim and he never really learned how to give it and receive it - but they were there for each other in ways that counted.

Like now.

Jason’s hand rests on Tim’s shoulder. Dick eventually joins the hug, sandwiching Tim between him and Bruce. Damian is merely standing there, but he’s closer than he normally would be, and Tim takes it for what it is. 

They stand there for a little bit, not as long as when they were on the floor, but eventually, he lets go. Bruce lets him, and his brothers back away, but before Tim can fully withdraw back into his shell, Bruce lifts a large, calloused hand and tenderly wipes the tears from Tim’s face. Dick, Jason, and Damian head off towards the door, leading the way as Bruce rests a reassuring hand on Tim’s back. Jason - bless him and his genuine foresight - grabs the wine bottles as they leave, and Tim avoids looking back. He doesn’t think he could handle the sight of all those boxes sitting in the otherwise empty apartment. 

Damian joins Dick in their car, and Jason climbs onto his motorcycle. Tim, for a moment, isn’t sure where he’s supposed to go, but Bruce doesn’t let him linger. He gives a mild push towards his own car, gesturing for Tim to get in the passenger seat. 

Bruce slides into the driver’s seat and turns on the car. He doesn’t pull away immediately, though, and Tim could see Jason casually waiting behind them and Dick waiting in front of them. It seems as if they’re all going to the Manor tonight, and Tim feels a comfortable warmth settle in his chest at that. He doesn’t deserve their love, doesn’t deserve their care or affection or worry, but he has it, and he’s grateful.

Bruce glances over, and Tim makes the mistake of locking eyes with him. He expected to see an “I told you so,” even though, deep down, he knows Bruce never would. He expected to see cold disappointment, just like the way his parents used to. Instead, he just sees warm love and sympathy and pain, like he’s hurting for Tim, too. He hates looking directly at Bruce because he swears the man has a secret power to read minds that way.

Almost as if proving it, Bruce reaches over and takes one of Tim’s hands into his own. Tim’s heart stills. It’s uncharacteristic for them - uncharacteristic for _Bruce_ \- but it’s not unwelcome. He hears Bruce inhale deeply before saying,

“I know this hurts, and I know it will hurt for a while, but even though she doesn’t love you anymore, we always will. Things have been hard, but I have never stopped loving you. I always will.”

He says it so sincerely that new tears spring to Tim’s eyes, much to his humiliation. Bruce doesn’t seem to mind, choosing to plant a kiss on Tim’s forehead rather than comment on it. They pull away from the apartment building, Jason following first then Dick and Damian. 

Tim’s not okay. He’s not healed, and he knows he won’t be for a while, but he knows he has other people around him that care deeply for him. It’s a mystery why they do, still, but all that matters at this very moment is that he has it. He’s not okay, not in the slightest, but so long as he has his brothers and his father right beside him, he knows he will be.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Batman fic, so if you guys enjoyed, please leave a comment down below and let me know what you think, as well as any suggestions you may have for me to improve upon. It would mean a lot to me. Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
